


Raw

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, F/M, Female James T. Kirk, James T. Kirk Has Issues, James T. Kirk Needs a Hug, James T. Kirk is a Little Shit, Love at First Sight, Winona's A+ Parenting, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: The instant he lays eyes on her, he freezes, feels the heart in his side stutter. Amanda beside him pauses, aware of her son's hesitancy. She may assume it is because of the ragged and disheveled appearance of Winona Kirk's rebellious daughter, with her messy hair, split lip and misaligned clothes. It is not.Under that challenging stare, Spock is eleven years old again, being rescued from a group of bullies by a human girl with gold in her hair, ice in her eyes, fire in her heart and something to prove.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 18
Kudos: 97





	Raw

They hear the fuss before they see it, and Amanda can't help the soft chuckle that rises in her throat. 

"She must have brought her daughter this time."

He knows she's being generous - he had overheard the call wherein their guest had admitted her elder child, her son, had run away from home. Still, with what he's heard of the daughter's reputation, it's a miracle she's here at all. 

"She'll be a bit of a handful." His mother warns with characteristic generosity. "Do try to be patient with her. She looks very much like her late father, and the comparison has been rather detrimental over the years."

"I will endeavour not to ruin Human-Vulcan relations." He replies dryly, prompting another laugh. 

"I should hope not."

They round the corner and enter the foyer, where his mother's guest and friend from Starfleet and her daughter await. 

The instant he lays eyes on her, he freezes, feels the heart in his side stutter. Amanda beside him pauses, aware of her son's hesitancy. She may assume it is because of the ragged and disheveled appearance of Winona Kirk's rebellious daughter, with her messy hair, split lip and misaligned clothes. It is not. 

Under that challenging stare, Spock is eleven years old again, being rescued from a group of bullies by a human girl with gold in her hair, ice in her eyes, fire in her heart and something to prove.

* * *

_It was well-known and meticulously documented that above all other age groups, children in the range of five to fifteen years old had difficulty containing their emotions, and often were guided by the base impulses therein. Accommodation for this learning period was a requirement of parents and teachers alike, and the children themselves were informed of this as to not get discouraged should the Surak Principles not come easily to them._

_Spock knew this. He knew._

_Yet, there lingered the thread in his mind that he was under more scrutiny than the other children who struggled. It appeared that any difficulty he may have with internalizing the Principles were considered a direct result of his human heritage, rather than the mental puberty it very much was. Every misstep he had reflected poorly on his mother's species and on his father's choices, and he was therefore analyzed much more closely._

_It is what made it all the more enraging when children older than him, of fuller blood than him, partook in his public humiliation. Every action he could take felt like a trap - reacting in kind would be emotional, not defending oneself would be weakness of resolve and discussing the issue would be an exercise in futility. All he could do was fume, staring up at them venomously._

_Suddenly, one of the boys leaning over the display they had pushed him into found himself pushed forward. The two other boys turned to find a blonde human gir, perhaps only a few years younger than he himself._

_"I'll give you the fight you want!" She hissed, before punching the shortest one as hard as she could in the face. He was sent careening to the left, away from the display and landed on his side, staring up at her in shock and horror. She turned on the other bully, nearly barring her teeth. He backed away, unwilling to engage. "What, now you're afraid?"_

_The boys picked themselves up off the ground and left together, no doubt to inform their parents of the altercation. The human girl watched them go with the same fierceness of an angry sehlat. When she deemed them sufficiently far away, she dropped down into the display, walking over and offering her hand to him._

_"I hate people like that." She said by means of introduction. "Are you okay?"_

_It was clear that she didn't understand the significance of the gesture, and he knew the longer he took to respond, the more like she was to think he was rejecting her._

_He took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet and feeling a spark rush up his arm and settle at the base of his skull. It punched the breath out of him, and he felt a bond much stronger than the one he'd formed with T'Pring just over a year ago. It felt warm and chaotic, just like her callused little hand did, and he wanted to sink into it. He wanted to melt into her skin, to fuse himself to her as much as was physically and mentally possible, and he had no idea why._

_"James!" Came a humiliated call, and a grown human woman rushed into the room. His own mother followed close behind. The woman caught sight of them and moved even faster, yanking the girl away from him with a sharp and aggressive pull on her arm. "You can't behave for one minute, can you?"_

_The girl - James - frowned, but didn't attempt to get out of the too-tight grip on her upper arm. "They pushed him!"_

_"And you punched them!"_

_"He wasn't doing nothing - they deserve to be hit!" James started struggling against the hold on her arm, holding onto the ball of her shoulder and throwing herself in the opposite direction. She got red in the face, panting and making breathless noises._

_"James, stop this instant. You're making a scene." The woman hissed._

_"Why don't you ever listen to me?!" James wailed, giving up on trying to get away and starting to kick out at the woman's legs. "You never listen to me! You never take my side! Why do you even bring me places when you don't care about me?! Let me go! LET ME GO!"_

_His mother approached cautiously, but he was too stunned at her sudden vitriol. His gaze was locked on the way the woman's fingers tightened enough to indent the skin and James collapsed onto the ground. The anger seemed to have overcome her and she was sobbing quietly, head bowed._

_"You are hurting her." He said without thinking._

_The woman's gaze snapped over to him and she released James' arm. "Get up. We're going back to the apartments. I'm so sorry about this, Amanda."_

_"Don't be." His mother said softly, coming to stand beside him and rest her hand on his shoulder. "Comm me later tonight and we'll make arrangements for the rest of your stay."_

_James pushed to her feet, wiping her face with the back of her hand resolutely staring at the floor. He wanted to reach out to her, but he didn't know how._

_"I appreciate it. This won't happen again, I promise."_

_"Vulcan is hard to adjust to for adults. I'm not surprised she's having difficulty." Amanda was being diplomatic, he knew. James' outburst had nothing to do with Vulcan or her people. This was a personal matter. "No one will take offense. I'll also deal with Spock's bullies."_

_The woman nodded, then left the room, James trailing bitterly after her._

_James was fire, ice and gold, and Spock had been branded by her._

* * *

"Could you at least attempt to look half-decent?" Winona sighs, trying to straighten up James' jacket and dab concealer on the bruising. 

"Sure could." James replies flippantly. "Not gonna."

"Do you try to embarrass me on purpose?" 

James smiles back brightly and completely sarcastically. "Me? The light of your life and favourite child? Perish the thought."

"It's good to see you again, Winona." Amanda interrupts, her own smile more sincere but no less diplomatic. "And you as well, James. You've grown into a radiant young woman."

"I do what I can." James' smile for Amanda is much more sincere. "Thank you for letting me come back to Vulcan."

Amanda waves her off. "You were a child. Even Vulcan children get into mischief."

James laughs and he wants to sink to the floor and soak in that sound like a sehlat in a sunspot. "No wonder you're a career diplomat."

"I'd like to introduce you to my son, Spock."

James' attention turned on him, and he sees the light of recognition on her face. "Wait, you're the kid from the gravity exhibit."

He straightens his spine. "I am."

James walks right over to him, looping one of her arms around his. "Good to see you again, Amanda. Have fun with your Starfleet business - Spock's gonna show me around."

"James, you can't just-" Winona sighs, but he interjects. 

"It is no hardship. I will be her guide."

"Sounds great." She tugs on him and he goes willingly, body so easily molded to her whim. "Say, you got a garden around here anywhere?"

Amanda's amused expression follows him as they leave and he's certain she knows something he does not. 

| | | 

"You pointy-eared bastard," She hisses between sharp and desperate kisses, "you've haunted my dreams since I was nine."

The way her fingers move over the delicate skin of his wrist as she holds him against the wall make him shiver, thought and reaction clouded in a haze of sensation and emotion. She's there, right at the base of his skull, the same bond from when they were children flaring up brightly with their proximity. 

"As have you." He gasps back, unable to do more than slide along the thigh she slipped between his legs to grind against the join of her hip. "Every morning torture to my soul, your image dissolved upon waking."

She bites along the hinge of his jaw, and his control eludes him, a helpless moan escaping his lips. "Yeah, that's right. Moan for me. C'mon, let loose - grind until you've soaked through your trousers. I want you wet and sticky, reminded of me with every movement you make. I know you can."

She's right, of course, and with each pulse of arousal that accompanies the hard and dry grind against the seams of his trousers, the slit from which his penis emerged leaks out more and more lubricant. He can feel it pooling between his thighs. Under normal coital instances, he would spread the lubrication down his phallus and apply it to his partner manually. Still, he breathlessly chases her mouth, the sweetness of desert fruit on her lips along with the lingering aftertaste of iron. "I am, I am."

She abruptly hikes up her thigh, pressing the soaked seat of his trousers up into his perineum, making him squirm and chant _"ah ah ah"_ against her shoulder. It echoes down the empty hall, and that makes her grin. 

"Anatomy is one thing. Tell me something a reproductive file couldn't."

He is hazy, and concentration is difficult. Her actions are not only arousing, so is the scent of her sweat, her own natural lubrication - how _wet_ they would be together, should she allow him to penetrate her - and the pheromones in her skin. 

"Gotta listen better than that." She releases a wrist and he whines at the loss, but she relocates it under his hips, locating the soaked portion of his inseam before jabbing her fingers against it suddenly and rubbing in tight, hard circles. 

He jolts like her touch was a live wire, his vision blurring even as the colour around him jumped in vibrancy. He reaches out unconsciously, fisting his hand in her thick hair and pulling her close, sinking his teeth into the firm flesh of her neck even as he continues to jolt and whimper. Tears spring to his eyes, the pleasure so sweet and so sharp. 

She licks up the shell of his ear, nibbling on the pointed end. "Mmm, so good for me. Look at you go, riding my fingers and I'm not even inside you. I bet you have the most gorgeous prostate orgasms - could get you to come without even touching your cock, hmm?"

He has no words, can only tighten his jaw and pray she doesn't stop. He can feel through where her cheek is pressed to his that her satisfaction at his state is truthful - she enjoys seeing him so easily undone at her hands. She appreciates that - in the moment, at least - he is unashamed of his reaction to her and this lewd display. 

"Get a vibrating plug into you and I bet you'd fuck me into the mattress." She breathes it into his ear. "I'd love to play with your slit, too, and tease you out with my tongue or fingers. Can you control when it extends? I would love to see your belly swell up with it, but you don't let it out because I told you not to. Would your head peek out despite your best efforts? I want to find out, one day. But right now," she pulls back her fingers and jabbed again, making him wail into her shoulder, "I want you to come."

And come he does. He feels the command as clearly in his head as he does in his body and nearly collapses with the white-out pleasure of his orgasm. 

When he comes back to a more complete awareness, she's got his head resting on her shoulder, his body sitting on her thigh and her arms around his chest, keeping him pinned to the wall but upright. 

"Shh, you did so good, baby. So proud of you." She's murmuring into his ear, petting down his flanks. He realizes then that he is shaking aggressively. "So fucking sexy, you listened so well."

The scent of her arousal remains high, and he instinctively knows she was left unfulfilled. He forcefully regains control of his body, pulling himself back into a fully erect posture. She assesses him critically - he does feel the desire to lounge in her praise and recover - but he merely takes her hand and walks them further down the hall. She doesn't object, but he can feel her arousal being dampened by worry - worry for his state, and that she has acted inappropriately. 

They reach his room - where they were headed to retrieve the dermal regenerator he had stored there - and when the door closes, she opens her mouth to speak and likely apologize. He doesn't let her, taking his turn to push her against the wall and kiss her breathless, taking her hands in the Vulcan kiss and revelling in the moment. 

"Let me please you." He breathes against her lips. "Allow me to touch you as you have done to me."

The dialation of her pupils gives away how pleasant she finds the idea, and he wastes no time in pulling her from the wall and pushing her onto his bed, on her back. He unlaces her boots, tossing them aside as he undoes her pants, pulling them down to her ankles but leaving them tied together by the fabric. He inserts himself between her legs and falls to his knees, hands cupping the top of her strong thighs and nose overwhelmed by how much more potent her scent was underneath the fabric. 

"Shit." She breathes, letting herself relax against the mattress. 

He ducks down to nuzzle into her pubic mound, parting the labia with his nose before following the line of the orifice with a broad stroke of his tongue. She moans and bucks, already nearing the edge. As he wraps his lips around her clitoris and alternates between sucking it and licking it, he becomes unreasonably skin-hungry. He slides his right hand up and under her shirt while his left explores the hip and leg underneath it. 

He wants to be naked more than anything, to feel his whole body come alive with her skin pressed to his. He doesn't care if he's over her or she's over him, but he craves the contact. 

"Fingers." She gasps. "Fingers, please."

His left hand acquiesces to her plea, and he inserts his index and middle fingers into her vagina, gratified to hear her moan and feel her clench. He runs the barest hint of his teeth along her clitoris, and she shakes above him. One of her hands finds his hair and fists it, the other cupping her own breast though her shirt and bra. 

"So close, baby, so close-"

He dips into her thoughts, crooking his fingers just the right way to make her spasm and reach completion. Unexpectedly, he also reaches orgasm, her sensation carried back to him though their connected skin. He rests his head on her thigh, panting weakly. 

The vice grip she has on his hair relaxes, and despite her heaving breaths, she gentles her touch and pets his head. "You're even better than in the dreams, fuck."

"As are-" He swallows. "As are you."

She laughs with what breath she has. "I doubt this is what our mothers envisioned us getting up to. Well, not your mother anyway."

He recalls then the suspect look his mother had given him upon his departure, and he is confronted with the revelation that, indeed, his mother anticipated this outcome. Perhaps some reputation on James' part, or perhaps the-

He reaches into his mind and pings the bond formed with her all those years ago when they were children. James, quite reasonably, does not react to such a small mental graze - humans are generally psi-null, and there's no reason to anticipate she's any different. Instead of attempting the ping again, he immerses himself in the bond and sends across the least offensive of his emotions, satisfaction. 

She props herself up on her elbows. "Are you doing that?"

He sends affirmation across the link. 

"Fuck. Duh, of course you can control it." She flops back down onto the bed. "Guess that's why we dream of each other, huh?"

"The bond is a preliminary one." He feels obliged to explain. "Despite its strength."

"Which means?"

"It does not yet have an intention, only that a mental connection between us has been formed. It is likely due to my emotional state at the time of its formation, along with my age and lack of control."

"Oh. So, is this link a bad thing, then?"

"No. It can be severed, if you wish, but for my part . . . I find myself unwilling." 

She chuckles. "Mind-blowing sex will do that to ya."

He has no way of telling her that years of subconsciously immersing himself in the bond enough to make them dream of each other has caused him to form an illogical attachment to a woman who is, essentially, a stranger. 

He lifts her legs off his shoulders and slides out from underneath them. She watches him do so, sitting up to inspect more closely when he removes his soiled trousers to replace them with clean ones. 

"Hmm, so that's what it looks like all tucked away." Her gaze roams over his slit, mostly obscured by his pubic hair. "A much better design than human men, I'll tell you that."

"External genitals do possess more cons than pros." He agrees. He gestures to the attached bathroom. "If you would like, I have a sonic shower you may use."

"What a gentleman." Her voice is soft and teasing, but she does stand. "I'll be out in a minute."

| | | 

Winona and James-

"Jamie, or Jim. Only my mom calls me James."

- _Jamie_ were already expected to stay over in Sarek's estate, since they were Amanda's guests, so it wasn't any effort for Spock to lead Jamie back to her assigned room after they had straightened their clothing and cleansed themselves so she could change clothes. 

She walks out of the en suite bathroom that connected to her mother's guest suite in a pair of shorts and a white tank top, beige boots laced up. 

"The suns of Vulcan are aggressive." He feels compelled to warn her. "It is likely with so much skin exposed that you will get a sun burn."

She pulls a bottle out of the unfolded mess of her travel clothes. "Spray-on clay."

He cocks his head. "I do not understand."

"Tribes on Earth figured out thousands of years ago that the best way to avoid sun damage and reinforce the lipid barrier in the skin is to coat yourself in butterfat and pigment, usually from clay. This stuff isn't as effective as _actually_ coating myself in a paste-like layer of clay, but it's better than SPF or that crystal nanite stuff they keep pushing. If you notice that I'm a little more red-coloured than before, it's because this particular version is what we make terracotta out of. Closest to my skin tone."

"Fascinating." 

She shrugs. "Not my invention. If I remember correctly, it comes from the Himba* women, in Africa."

"My ancestors responded to the desert conditions by wearing full-body robes made of multiple layers of lightweight and breathable material." He assesses her skin. "Will it not rub off onto your clothing?"

"Eh, a little bit. The spray has a bit of a film to it, which doesn't really allow the clay to come off." She smirks crookedly. "I've never been really concerned with ruining clothes. Can't tell you how many shirts I've got that have blood stains on them."

"Why would they be stained in blood?"

"Fights, mostly." She looks away a little sheepishly. "Not always mine."

He chooses not to comment on that - they had met through such an instance, after all. "Please sit on the bed for me."

She smirks flirtatiously, but that is not why he directed her to the bed. He pulls the regenerator from his pocket, sitting down next to her. Her smile is more genuine this time, leaning closer to him, relaxing her face and closing her eyes. He holds the back of her head, the thick blonde tresses getting caught in his fingers, and concentrates on healing the damage to her face. It is the work of a few minutes, the split in her lip making more time than even the black bruise under her eye. 

When he's done, her eyes flicker open and he almost looses himself in the hemimorphite of her irises. He wonders whether this blue is possible because of the oceans of her home planet, the vibrancy written into the very strands of her DNA. Logically he knows that she inherited her golden tresses and shining eyes from her father - Amanda had shown him pictures of George Kirk and the resemblance had been striking - but the emotion she inspires in him insists it must be something more, that _she_ is something more.

"Would you like to see the gardens?" He speaks, but his voice is much softer than he intended. 

"Sure."

He stands and she stands with him. He leads her from her assigned room through the maze-like interior of his ancestral home. This building had stood since pre-Surakian times, and had once centralized House S'chn T'gai. Thus, it was a massive complex that presently served as a hostel for ambassadors and Starfleet officers required to interact with Sarek or the Vulcan High Council. At the rear of the complex, there were two large gardens, one of them an elaborate array of desert plants and the other a sun-shielded water garden, with fountains, pools, terran semi-arid plants and fanciful architecture. The terran plants had accompanied his mother when she moved to Vulcan, of a type she called _succulents_ , and had thrived over the course of his life in the thin soil and indirect moisture from the fountains. 

Jamie breaks into a large grin when she sees the water garden, immediately overtaking him and inviting herself into the space, trailing down the marble paths and crouching next to a haworthia coopia that rivalled the diameter of a modest table and came up to their knees. 

"I don't think I've ever seen them get this big, holy shit." She reaches out with gentle fingers to trail long the firm but giving texture of the plant's long limbs. He observed the interaction keenly.

Jamie self-admitted she incites violence - out of fun, boredom, an abundance of aggression, he doesn't know - and is unashamed whether she wins or loses. Yet, here she is, treating a plant - something defenseless - with a tenderness and reserve usually applied to mammalian infants or the injured. She caresses its well-loved leaves with a smile on her face, and he knows without knowing how that this version of her is the more honest of the two. He recalls what she yelled an Winona when they were children, and he wonders what happened to her to temper this sweet, gentle warmth down to a ragged edge. Who had injured her soul, and how many times? 

"Who planted these?" She shifts over to an equally massive echeveria elegans, giggling when the texture that greets her is slightly fuzzy, as opposed to the smooth flesh of the previous one. 

"My mother had them imported when she moved here and married my father." He replies. "She has, in her words, 'never had much of a green thumb', but these plants do well here and require little attention."

"I used to have a whole collection of them that would sit on my windowsill. I had to give them to a friend of mine in high school because they kept getting smashed no matter what I did." Her smile slips into something slightly more bitter. "Neither Sam nor Frank appreciated them."

"Sam is your brother, yes?"

"So I'm told." She focuses intently on the plant in front of her. 

"And Frank?"

"Step-father."

"Your mother's second mate." He nods. "Am I correct in assuming that they are responsible for the plants' destruction?"

"Mom threw them out on me because Frank hated them. I saved them and gave them to my friend." Even as the resentment tints her voice, her touch remains serene and gentile. "I haven't bothered to have nice things since."

He comes and kneels next to her. "I grieve with thee."

"Don't worry about it." She bumps him with her shoulder, a more playful expression overtaking her. "I got to meet you, didn't I?"

"I am not certain my presence is enough to counteract emotional abuse."

"I'm surprised you guys have the concept of emotional abuse."

"We are not emotionless, it is merely unacceptable to be controlled by them. We bond emotionally and mentally with family and lovers. To use such privileged intimacy against the ones who have trusted you with it is unforgivable."

"Heh, I guess so." She won't meet his gaze. 

| | | 

"James and Spock seem to be getting along quite well, don't you think?" Amanda comments as they walk passed the water garden, where they spot the two young adults sitting on the edge of a fountain, deep in conversation. 

"It's surprising, honestly. James isn't really the social type."

"I find it hard to believe she's had as many lovers as you claim, then, if she was not at least personable."

Winona snorts. "Women have a much easier time finding willing bedpartners than men, you know that."

"Be that as it may, Spock is not so easily persuaded." Amanda feels her heart warm looking at them, the avid and intense expression on her son's face - mild at best by human standards but extraordinarily eager by Vulcan - solidifying her affection for James Kirk. The young woman is uninhibited and expressive as she speaks, passionate and knowledgeable. "If she were not sufficiently stimulating to him, he would be a polite host and nothing more."

"She's got a lot of practise in _stimulation_."

She pulls up short and gazes at her friend. Winona stops walking and turns to her. 

"What is it?"

"How can you bring yourself to speak about your own daughter this way?"

"Like what? I'm just being honest - she's no demure maiden."

"How long have you been doing this to her?"

"Doing what?"

"Taking out your resentment of George's sacrifice."

Winona rears back like she's been physically struck. "How dare you make such an accusation?!"

"Winona, you didn't even realize she's changed clothes and her face is healed."

Winona looks back out at the garden, and Amanda watches the realization that, indeed, James cleaned herself up since they parted ways. (Amanda knows the dermal regeneration was more likely Spock's doing than James', but the fact remains that she allowed him to treat her wounds.) "So she did."

"James isn't responsible for what happened to George. George would have died whether or not she was born that day, whether or not you were even _pregnant_ with her. Nothing surrounding the _Kelvin_ 's destruction had anything to do with her."

"I know she's not responsible." Winona snaps back. "It doesn't have to do with George. James has been uncontrollable since she was a child. There's no punishing or reasoning with her - she just does what she wants when she wants to. And now, as an adult? She's just a menace. She's constantly in fights, she sleeps around-"

"Her preliminary application tests for Starfleet were perfect."

Winona stops. "She applied to Starfleet?"

"Yes. Captain Pike has been in communication with her, I've heard. Trying to convince her to join."

"She never told me."

"Perhaps you should stop concentrating on what you perceive her failures to be and redirect your attention to the kind of woman that she _is_."

| | | 

The day slipped away without his notice, and he only noticed noon had descended to dusk by the rosy glow Jamie's bronze skin had taken on. He is still processing this unintended unawareness of his internal clock when his comm beeps, notifying him that they are to make their way to the hall for their evening meal. 

When they enter the hall, Jamie's personality takes an abrupt turn, and she becomes more sullen and insular. He's confused by the change, and isn't quite sure what about the discussion Sarek starts she is unqualified to engage in. He's discussing the plans for the most ambitious starship Starfleet has ever attempted, what is to be named the _Enterprise_ , the very ship that they had been discussing in the garden. However, Jamie does not speak at all during the entirety of the meal, spine straight and shoulders back but pointedly not making eye contact with anyone. He even tries to get her attention by directing a comment her way. She does look up then, ready to answer him, but Winona speaks up instead. 

"She wouldn't know anything about the nuclear core of a starship."

As Jamie's shoulders stiffen and she looks back down at her plate, Spock understands. He reaches into their bond, ambushed by the roiling malcontent in her mind, but sends across as much reassurance as he can muster. In response to Winona, he meets her gaze firmly. "On the contrary, Jamie is very well informed concerning the engineering marvels aboard the _Enterprise_. The nuance of her understanding supersedes my own, as she spent one-point-eight hours this afternoon informing me what new technology in the nuclear and warp cores will allow it to reach Warp 11."

Winona's jaw snaps shut and Jamie is staring at him with a closed expression. The bond flares with something to strong and bright, it nearly overwhelms his sight. 

Amanda steeples her fingers in front of her. "Spock called you Jamie - is that the diminutive you prefer?"

Jamie blinks like she hadn't expected to be addressed, but maintains her proud posture through sheer force of will when it's apparent she wants to shrink into herself and disappear from the room. "I usually go by Jamie or Jim." 

"So, Jamie, what _do_ you think of the placement of the Warp cores on the hull?"

"In all honesty, I think they should be raised to be level with the bridge. I know it delays the response of the engineering crew by thirty seconds, but I think it will level out the Warp itself, which will reduce strain and the overall instances of repair that will be necessary."

"I agree." Sarek says, acting as through the entire unspoken argument had never occurred. No doubt Amanda would inform him later of why the tension occurred in the first place. "What opinion to you have on the proposed third Warp core?"

She shakes her head. "Too much strain on the ship. It would have to be bigger to support the dispersing of inertia, and then there would be no point. No, I think if you want a vessel of that size to increase it's Warp capacity, you have to upgrade the engines themselves."

"That was my stance as well when the fleet approached me." Amanda nods. 

Amanda and Sarek take over the conversation, pretending that Spock has not been locked in a silent contest of wills with Winona the entire time. Eventually, Amanda re-engages Winona, freeing Spock to return his attention to the remains of his meal - which he no longer feels like eating - and the stare of Jamie.

They keep their gazes locked until the meal adjourns, and Spock is the first to stand. "Mother, if it is amenable to you, I will remain Jamie's host for the duration of their stay."

"They're staying for two months." Sarek points out, as though his son needs reminding. 

"It would be unreasonable to have Mother host them both when I am free to assist her."

"As long as it's okay with you, Jamie. Your mother and I _will_ be pretty busy." Amanda smiles gently. "Much more work than play for us, unfortunately."

"Yeah, it's not a problem." 

"Then I should like to continue our conversation from earlier, Jamie. Do you play chess?"

She stands too. "Can't say I have, but I'm a quick learner."

As Jamie rounds the table to join him, he makes eye contact with Winona once more. Even if his expression does not say what he's thinking, he knows his eyes do. 

_I will cherish that which you throw away, and I will make you pay for it._

| | | 

They make it halfway back to his room when the emotions she's broadcasting over their bond breaks through his controls and he grabs her wrist, pulling her into a little-used hallway (once belonging exclusively to the servants that had managed the estate in the pre-Surak times). She gasps at the sudden detour, the breath rushing right back out of her when he roughly pushes her back against the shadowed wall, cups her face and kisses her senseless. He pours all of his building sentiment into it, unsure of how she gained so much power over him in such a short period of time. 

"Hah, wow." She smirks when they part. "Aren't I supposed to kiss you like that for saving me?"

"No. It was not a favour, it is the baseline dignity you deserve." He replies, pressing his forehead to hers and letting his hands drop down to her waist. 

That anomalous emotion she's broadcasting, which he can now feel through his skin as well as their bond, increases. Her lips quiver and her breath shakes as she exhales, her trembling hands reaching up to rest on his shoulders. 

"You're too kind to me." She whispers. "You don't even know me."

"I want to." Her thumbs against the base of his throat send sparks up to the tips of his ears. He leans forward unconsciously, brushing his lips against hers and feeling the word bubble unbidden up to his lips. " _T'hy'la._ "

"My Vulcan is a little rusty." She teases, and he can feel her eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones. "You'll have to tell me what that means."

"One day." He promises. _One day there will not be a word that passes my lips that you will not understand._

Her fingers tighten on his shoulders as his do on her hips. Their noses brush, and he gives into the urge to kiss her again, both with his mouth and with the tips of his fingers along her waist. When they part, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and hides her face in his neck. "God . . . Is it this intense with all Vulcans? Am I supposed to feel so intensely for someone I've known for a handful of hours?"

"You have known me across time and space, _t'hy'la_." He promises, kissing up her neck and taking in the scent of her hair. "From the moment you took my hand, we were bound."

"Does this happen a lot? Connections like this between Vulcans?"

"It can. As our telepathy is touch-reliant, we refrain from touching unnecessarily. Such bonds are very private, however, and only tend to be discussed between the parties involved. I would not know if this . . . intensity is natural, but I have never felt so for any other party which has made contact." His mouth brushes her ear and she shivers. "It is as if you are the other half of my-"

Her arms tighten. "Of your?"

She has no way of telling that he is in the midst of a revelation, no method of comprehending how the very foundations of his world have been realigned. "Of my katra."

"Katra?"

"My soul." He breathes, pressing her harder into the wall. 

"Heh, usually my partners have to be really drunk to call me their soulmate."

"It is not something so benign as that. We are not merely compatible, we are . . . " He struggles to find the right words, ones that exist in Vulcan but do not in English. "We are as one split apart. Two halves of a whole being, existing in separate bodies."

"Oh. That must be how the bond came together so fast, huh? You were just waiting for me."

"And you have found me." He remembers the tales his mother would read him of the ancient _t'hy'la_ , of their ferocity, their devotion and their love. He remembers asking Sarek as a young child whether such bonds existed anymore, and being unaccountably disappointed when the answer was no. Here, holding the antithesis of Surak's teachings, he wonders how Surak managed to convince those who witnessed such magnificence to give up their chance of finding it. Perhaps it is his own human-blooded weakness, but he is not certain he would have the strength. "What bliss this is."

"I'm not going back to my room tonight." She declares. "You're going to teach me how to feel this, to recognize you in my head."

He thinks immediately of a meld and is overcome with the desire. He has had some of her skin, had tasted her kiss, had felt the edges of her mind, but he wants, craves, _needs_ to be bare with her in all manners, to plumb the depths of this connection. "Whatever you desire from me, it is yours."

* * *

Over the course of the next month, Spock and Jamie are never seen without the other nearby. They spend much time together, wandering the gardens in deep and avid discussion, making use of the house's many amenities or exploring the nearby city. 

Sarek watches his son and cannot help but feel a kinship. Of course, he cannot be aware of what his courting of Amanda appeared to be from a third party's vantage, but he imagines it looks very similar. It is not hard to tell that Spock is, if not something deeper, at the very least enamored with Jamie. He can recognize that there is much physically appealing about the young woman: the tones of her hair and skin are rare on Vulcan (and even naturally amidst the human population) and she possesses both an attractive physique and mesmerizing eyes. Their many meals over the month have proved that Jamie is not only physically engaging, but mentally inviting as well. She's proved herself to be both highly intelligent and deceptively nuanced, with a broad knowledge base and a ready desire to learn what she is ignorant of. He can see why Captain Pike would be so interested in her for Starfleet - the kind of officer she would make would be an exceptional one, perhaps even exceptional enough to make a young captaincy. Despite her outward appearance of nonchalance, she is also highly emotionally aware, being courteous to the Vulcan desire to limit emotional expression by both resisting taking offense to Vulcan bluntness and by tempering her own expression. 

Sarek is no fool - he also sees the change she had brought about in his son. Spock has become more expressive, likely responding in kind to the infectious energy that she exhibits. He has ever struggled with Surakian dogma, finding the repression of his emotional state to be especially difficult in times of duress and great joy, when his control is most essential. He has made great progress, even under the derisive eye of the Vulcan High Council, who monitor him more closely than they do any other promising young adult. Sarek knows it is because of his human blood, but even he cannot help but feel the attention leans less into cold interest than it does xenophobia. 

It is pleasant to see his son exhibit happiness, and as he watches Spock interact with Jamie in the gardens, he sees his wife's warmth in his son's face. 

"They look good together, don't they?" Amanda asks, stopping at his side. 

"Indeed."

"I can't say for certain, but I have a hunch that there is more to them than meets the eye."

"What do you propose?"

"Do you remember the first time Winona and Jamie were here?"

"The incident with the three boys from Spock's class that resulted in a broken nose and sprained ankle. Yes, I do recall."

"They touched. Jamie and Spock. They held hands."

"Odd. I'm surprised he allowed it."

"I think he was trying not to be rude. Jamie would have taken it badly if he refused."

"He did well, then. I'm afraid I don't follow where your reminder is headed, however."

"I know the ceremony with T'Pring was guided, but do you think it's possible that he formed a preliminary bond with her during that incident?"

Sarek looks back down on Spock and Jamie, assessing them again in light of this new variable. "It is possible. I would have to meld with him to confirm it."

"I thought so." She hums thoughtfully. "What do you suggest we do about it, if that is the case?"

"I have no room to chastize him for his choice in potential mate." He glances at her and she smirks back. "However, if he intends to pursue her, she cannot stay on Earth. At least, not for much longer."

"Better safe than sorry." She agrees. Neither of them know whether pon farr will affect Spock, and it would not do to have his mate parsecs away should he fever take him. "From what I have gathered of the personal relationships back on Earth, I don't think Jamie will be adverse to leaving."

"And yet, she has remained when Sam did not."

She shakes her head. "It's different - Sam doesn't live under George's shadow. If Jamie had of ever left, that is the legacy she has to contend with, and I have a feeling she was more willing to fight the smaller battles at home than face that one."

"A shame. She has much more potential than George did."

"I know, but it doesn't feel that way when you're starting out. She may never feel relieved of that burden, even if she were to join Starfleet today and become a captain tomorrow."

"Do you think she would be amenable to living here?"

"I can't say. It wouldn't be an easy transition for her to live permanently on Vulcan."

"Neither was it for you, and you have done so admirably."

"I was a diplomat when we met." She reminds him gently. "Jamie is not."

"The discussion and decision will be left in Spock's hands, then."

"I'll bring it up with him." She offers. "And I'll ask him to let you inspect the bond."

"Thank you." Sarek was under no illusions that his son has always been closer with his mother. The request would appeal more to Spock coming from her. 

Amanda pressed the tips of her fingers to his, and as ever, he felt the thrill race up his arm. "I love you."

"And I, you, Amanda."

* * *

Jamie is laying on the edge of one of the larger fountains, enjoying the warmth of the sun when he enters the garden. She opens her eyes as she hears him approach, offering him a dazzling smile. 

"Welcome back. What did Sarek want?"

He sits down next to her head, and she scoots herself upward, resting her head on his lap and letting him run his fingers through her hair. "He wished to discuss my intentions towards you, and what plans I have for moving forward."

Her eyes snap open. "Oh shit. We haven't even talked about that - what did you say?"

"I apologize, I make it sound more ominous than it was." He lets his two fingertips trail over her lips in an apologetic kiss. "There are biological and mental ramifications that both parties must consider before beginning a serious romantic relationship. In our case, those more or less pertain to me."

"I don't follow."

"That is because we do not speak of it, and therefore it is not something you would be able to research anywhere but Vulcan, or Starfleet under the most discretion." He takes a breath. "Sarek viewed my mind and confirmed to me that we do possess an unusually strong bond."

She nods. "Yeah, we knew that."

"T'Pau would have to confirm it as a _t'hy'la_ bond, as I feel that it is, but I would spare us the trip until we have decided." He takes a short breath, trying to calm his nerves. "I harbour great affection for you, Jamie. I know you do as well."

She sits up, looking at him more directly. "What's this about?"

"I must inquire about how seriously you intend to take a possible relationship between us." He feels the desire to avert his eyes, so he does not have to witness possible rejection. the feeling is illogical and he fights the urge. "Romantic involvements are not taken lightly on Vulcan."

"I might sleep around, but I'm not afraid of commitment."

"That is not what I am implying." He takes her hand. "98.6% of long-term romantic entanglements lead to marriage amongst Vulcans. And marriage, by our definition, is an eternal bonding of minds and souls alongside the physical commitment. While it is possible to break a bond, it is extremely painful and traumatic. Broken bonds, whether on purpose or through chance, have resulted in death and suicide. Our bond is already strong after such a short period of time - I dread to consider what breaking such a bond years from now would feel like."

The ire she previously felt drains away. "Shit. Is it really that bad?"

"It can be." He swallows his fear and pushes onward. "I wish to be romantically involved with you on a permanent basis. I would have you be my future wife."

"Wow. That's a lot."

"I am aware that courtship moves much more slowly on Earth, and I would be willing to 'go slow' if that is what you desire. It would be negligent of me not to inform you at the outset, however, the unspoken expectation and likely result of such a union."

She nods. "No, no, I appreciate the heads up, I really do. I get why you'd need my affirmation, too."

"There is also another consequence of such a connection. It is called pon farr, and it is a time of great distress."

"Not really selling me on it, here."

"Pon farr occurs when a Vulcan reaches sexual maturity. Chemicals and hormones overwhelm the body and the mind with the urge to mate. Pon farr itself lasts two weeks on average, and is marked by an uptick in sexual thought, desire and activity. It can be controlled through regular sexual encounters, masturbation or meditation, as the symptoms are generally mild. The distressing part is for the male, and it is the plak tow - the blood fever. In the final days of pon farr, a Vulcan loses control of himself and seeks out his mate for coitus without thought or concern. He is violent and aggressive, and if his partner does not submit to his desires willingly, he will take it by force. If the plak tow is not satisfied, the fever will continue to rise until it kills him."

"Fuck." She breathes.

"As such, Vulcans are paired off as children so that in the event that the male does not find their own partner, they are drawn to someone rather than left to rampage until death, or attack someone and rape them."

"I take it you've got a bond like that."

"I do, but it is tenuous, only meant for this last scenario. It would be easily broken without any regret on our part - in fact, I have not so much as spoken to my intended since the ceremony when we were ten." He leans in and presses their foreheads together, trying not to hope. "Pon farr only occurs every seven years, and as a hybrid, I am not certain I will even get it."

"But if I do this, you need me here." 

"Correct."

She reaches up and cups his cheek. "Are you ready to do this? To commit to something this big with someone you've spent a month with?"

"By the time you leave it will have been two months, during which time we were hardly separate. Should I go into pon farr without a chosen mate, and should T'Pring not have one of her own, then I will have to mate and marry someone in whose presence I have only spent sixty-one minutes." He shifts and kisses her palm. "Do not feel compelled to agree. I will not hold it against you, and neither would my family. Sarek had to have such a discussion with Amanda before their mating."

She takes a deep breath. "Okay, so, if we go forward together, I can expect to get married, have crazy sex every seven years and probably live on Vulcan."

"Yes. We would often remain close, and we could not live separately for long periods of time."

She nods slowly, mulling over her options. "How soon would I have to move here?"

"As soon as possible, ideally. However, the estimated time of arrival for my first pon farr is five years away, should I experience it at all."

"Hmm, pretty safe to say you will." She lays her hand against his side, where she can feel his heartbeat. "Pretty much all of your primary biology is Vulcan. You even have internal testicles and a retracting penis with double ridges. Excellent design, 10/10 on that, but definitely not human."

"Please, tell me what you desire." He nudges her nose with his. "I have been honest, but I need to know your mind."

"Can't just feel what I'm thinking, huh?" She jokes, because she knows he can only discern full thoughts through a meld or, if she chooses to undertake it, a mating bond. "A huge part of me just wants to say yes."

He tamps his hope back down. "But?"

"I've got nothing to offer, Spock. I've got no career, no skills and only a nominal higher education. If this hadn't of happened, I was seriously considering joining Starfleet."

"Jamie, just as you would follow me, I would follow you. Should Starfleet be your path you need to follow, I would trail it with you gladly."

She huffs a laugh. "Oh yeah? And what about all your plans for the Vulcan Academy?"

"Starfleet is not an unworthy option. To follow my wife as she makes her career is also not unworthy."

"Can I think about this? When I give you my answer, I want it to be my final one." 

"Of course. I anticipated that you would need time to process this information, and perhaps more to ask questions that may arise."

"How long do I have?"

"I would prefer to know before you leave. If you are still undecided then, I would appreciate whether you'd like to maintain contact with me in the interim."

"I don't think it will take me a month to decide." She sighs. "I don't want to make it weird if I say no."

"My esteem for you will not diminish, I assure you. Should you decline, I would still wish to maintain a friendship with you."

"Heh, oh yeah?"

"You are a fascinating individual, and I would be remiss to lose such an engaging intellectual partner."

"Oh, I see how it is." She laughs with the air they're sharing. "You only want me for my brain."

"Not _only_."

She closes the distance between them with a tender kiss, and he realizes that it will not be as easy to let her go as it is to say the words.

| | |

Spock waits anxiously for another week. As with the month that predated their conversation, she has spent the last seven days at his side and the last six nights in his bed. She has been slightly more reserved in her affections for him, but it's as if she can't help herself, and being away from him is equivalent to flaying off her own skin. 

It is during the midday meal that the two halves of Jamie's life slam together. 

Truthfully, Spock is far too focused on Jamie, cataloguing the way the sun from the skylight dances across the bronze hue of her skin, to pay more than the minimum amount of attention to the proceeding discussion. All he knows is that one moment, Jamie's ankle is pressed against his own under the table and she keeps shooting him furtive glances, and the next she's slamming her hands down on the table, shooting out of her chair and ablaze in undiluted fury.

"If you don't want me around, just fucking tell me." She spits. 

"George wanted another baby, not me." Winona replies, apparently without any thought because the moment it's out of her mouth, she goes to backpedal. It's too late, however. The damage is done, and the chill that overtakes Jamie straightens her spine and ices over her expression. 

"I hope when you're on your deathbed, staring up at the blank white tiles and all alone," Jamie's face is perfectly expressionless, but the way she tilts her chin up and her gaze goes half-lidded is unmistakably menacing, "that you are haunted by this moment."

"Jim-

Jamie inclines her head to Sarek and Amanda. "I apologize, but you'll have to excuse me."

"Of course." Sarek replies, because Amanda is busy staring at her friend in horror. "I will see you again at the evening meal."

Jamie nods politely, walking away from the table with a deliberately even pace, closing the door behind her with a quiet _click_. 

"What audacity you possess to imply your own child is undeserving of her life when you have not proved worthy of sharing it." Spock stands, not bothering to address his parents and rushes out of the room after Jamie. He can see her down the hallway, walking briskly toward the room she was assigned, but has not once slept in. She bypasses her room and enters her mother's, stripping off the minimal jewelry she wore and dropping it onto the bed. She then removes from the suitcase a small glass cube with a couplet about familial love written inside it in wire. Underneath the couplet were the names _Frank, Winona, Sam, James_ and a floral image. 

She holds it over her head and watches dispassionately as it falls, shattering on the tile. 

"This isn't how I wanted this day to go." She says softly. 

"Let us leave here." He offers her his hand. After a long moment where he fears she will reject him, she crunches the broken glass as she takes his hand. With a gentle tug, he leads her from the room and away from the house. She gets into the aircar without a question, the very air around her chilled but slowly thawing in the Vulcan heat. He drives them away from the house, to a small oasis perhaps an hour away from his home. It is not much - a small natural spring with a few tall, broad-leafed trees and soft grasses. 

"This isn't how I wanted this day to go." She repeats once they're seated on the edge of the spring. "I was going to tell you what I decided, and now it's going to seem like a cop-out."

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're implying."

"Because Winona's an asshole, it's going to look like I'm saying yes just to get away from her."

"Starfleet would ensure you a more complete escape than Vulcan." He replies, touching the tips of his fingers to hers. "I'm certain Captain Pike would gladly bring you aboard his own ship."

She practically collapses onto his shoulder, locking her hand around his in a grip that would have been painful for a human to experience. "I love you."

"And I, you, _ashayam_."

"I want to stay here. I want to be with you. I want to marry you one day."

"I will ensure it happens." He kisses the top of her head. "Would you meld with me? Let me wash away this anguish with my love, _t'hy'la_."

She sits up, then throws a leg over his, settling in his lap. "Please."

They don't return to the estate until well after the suns have set. 

| | | 

"You're certain?" Sarek asks. 

"I am." Jaime raises her chin in defiance. 

"I assume you will remain housed in Spock's chambers?"

"Preferably."

"Of course. You are to be mates." Sarek inclines his head. "Is there anything you wish to retrieve from Earth?"

"No."

"Very well. Do you wish to have the ceremony soon? Your mother will be leaving shortly."

"I have no family I am interested in attending. I would rather Winona not be in attendance. Or notified, for that matter."

Sarek inclined his head. "I will inform Amanda of your request. Is there anyone from Earth you would like in attendance?"

She bites her lip. "There is, actually. His name is Leonard McCoy - I'd appreciate it if he could come. He's my best friend."

"Do you have his contact information?"

"Uh, yeah, I can get a hold of him." 

"Then he will be welcomed upon his arrival. Return to me with a date within the month after Winona's departure, and I will make the ceremonial arrangements."

"Thank you, father." Spock says.

"Of course." Sarek inclines his head to them. "It is the duty of one's parents to assist their children."

| | | 

There is a week remaining until Winona's departure, but Jamie's friend had insisted on coming as soon as he could. 

"You can't get married before I give 'im a shovel talk." The man had said, a misleading scowl on his face. Jamie seemed to take it in her stride, laughing at him. 

"Just make sure your shuttle is for Tel'khar."

"Can do, sunshine."

Her smile was soft and fond for the man. "I'll see you soon, Bones."

He winked and they ended their call. 

Today, Spock has accompanied Jamie to the travel terminal. Leonard - or 'Bones', as Jamie exclusively referred to him - walks out of the leftmost terminal with two bags. The cloth one is slung over his shoulder and the hardsided one hangs down by his side. He is wearing dark jeans, hiking boots, a grey t-shirt and a brown leather jacket - a very casual and human manner of dress. As soon as he spots them, he picks up his pace, setting down his bags when he's decently close to catch Jamie's enthusiastic hug. The display is rather over-emotional for the surrounding Vulcans, but both parties involved are humans, and they let the indiscretion pass. 

Spock, for his part, is surprised but glad that he does not experience the jealousy he had anticipated feeling. Jamie had explained to him the manner in which she made Leonard's acquaintance and the man's past. She had been quick to add that Leonard was not and had never been more than a friend to her, both having encountered each other at a terrible time in their lives.

"I was drinking myself into a stupor every time money came my way and Bones had just gone through a messy divorce where he lost everything, including the right to see his daughter." Jamie explained. "We kept seeing each other at the bar I was much too young to be in, and had struck up conversation a couple of times. One night, I got into a fight and he was the one they called to drag my unconscious ass out the bar. I woke up on the couch of his apartment with him stitching up a gash on my leg. He laid into me for being stupid and we've been best friends ever since."

Leonard and Jamie hug for quite some time, Leonard breaking into a smile as he gets as closer look at her. 

"Seems Vulcan has been good to you. Not a bruise to be found."

"Yeah, well, can't go around starting fistfights on Vulcan. They actually send you to prison for assault. Besides, it's hard to punch someone who's drunk on chocolate milk." 

Leonard snorts, reaching down and handing off the hardsided suitcase to her. "Here, this is for you."

She cocks her head, then clicks the clasps open. Inside are lines of small terracotta pots strapped down against the case's wall. There are nine total, all different types of succulent species. "Oh, _Bones_."

"You're not coming back to Earth from how I see it." He shrugs. "Ain't no one to smash 'em on you now. Gotta go back to their mama."

"Thank you." She closes the case, sets it back on the ground, and hugs him again. Leonard's smile is gentle, brotherly, and he kisses the crown of her head softly. 

"Not a problem, kiddo."

She pulls back much faster than the first time, quickly wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and picking up the case. Leonard hoists his duffle bag back over his shoulder and Jamie leads them over to where Spock has been waiting by the aircar. "Spock, this is Bones. Bones, this is Spock. My, uh, fiancée, I suppose."

Gratifyingly, Leonard doesn't extend his hand in a customary Terran greeting, just ducks his head. "Nice to meet you. About time someone held Jamie down enough for some dust to settle on her."

He's unfamiliar with the idiom and decides not to comment on it. "You as well, doctor. Jamie speaks quite highly of you."

"Heh, we'll see how much of her opinion your share by the time I leave." Leonard gives him a rueful smirk. "If there's one thing I ain't, it's emotionless."

"You have been a steadfast friend to Jamie, and her affections for you are deep and sincere. Even should our personalities conflict, for that alone, I am not capable of disliking you."

Leonard shifts his weight to the side. "Same here. But we should continue this back at your place. I hate terminals."

She snorts. "You hate space, not terminals."

"And where do you get strapped into a tin can to get shot into space? Terminals."

"Flawless logic, doctor." He says, extracting the startled laugh he expected from Jamie. She always enjoys it when he 'teases', as she put it. 

Leonard blinks. "Well, shit. We might be friends yet."

| | |

Their return to the estate happens to coincide with Amanda and Winona's return from the Starfleet base in the city. Jamie had expressed the desire to return before her mother, but the two women were ahead of schedule. Jamie seems to recognize this, and lays her hand on his. He can read from the brief contact that she is resigned to the confrontation rather than upset with him - Winona, apparently, has no affection for Leonard. 

In the seat behind them, Leonard hisses between his teeth. "Great, the witch."

"Let me handle it." Jamie says, a steely set to her face. 

Spock parks and exits the aircar, watching Jamie closely. The moment feels ripe with tension, prone to violence - whether that's in a physical or emotional sense he cannot fathom. 

"You must be Jamie's friend, the doctor." Amanda speaks before anyone else has the chance, offering her hand for a handshake. Leonard takes it gracefully, offering her a genteel smile. 

"I'm Leonard McCoy, Ambassador Grayson." Jamie must have informed him ahead of time who Spock's parents were - diplomats' names were not generally well-known outside Starfleet's upper tier officers.

"Amanda will do." She smiles back. "I must say, I never anticipated a name such a Leonard, considering Jamie's nickname for you."

He laughs in a charming, but self-depreciating manner. "Jamie picked it up from something I said from around the time we met. Something about not having anything but my bones left after my divorce."

Amanda spots Jamie's smirk out of the corner of her eye and laughs. "I've not known her for very long, but that does seem very in-character for her."

"Why don't you tell the story of how you met over dinner?" Winona interjects, her voice icy. 

"Sure." Jamie replies, a sickly-sweet and unmistakably false smile on her face. "I'm sure they'd love to hear about how you met Harry too."

Winona stiffens. Leonard shifts his weight to his back foot, allowing him to glance over at Jamie while not disengaging Amanda. "Which one was that? Before or after Mike and Henry?"

"Between." Jamie replies brightly, the bite of frost edging the sugar of her tone. "After all of them came Wallace, and now Frank."

Amanda and Spock very politely say nothing. It is uncomfortable for them to be in the midst of this situation, but they both know that nothing shy of this type of embarrassment will curtail Winona's sharp tongue. It is doubly awkward for Amanda, who must do her best not to choose between a friend and colleague and her future daughter-in-law. 

"That's what I thought." Leonard hums. He turns his attention back to Amanda. "I'm not wrong in assuming that Jamie and Spock are sharing space, am I?"

"Not at all. When Jamie informed us you were coming, we had a room prepared just around the corner from theirs for you. Spock can show you, and I'm sure the three of you would like some time to catch up."

"I appreciate it, on both accounts."

Amanda nods, then addresses Spock. "We'll see you for dinner."

"Yes, Mother." 

"Come, Winona." Amanda gestures at her friend to follow, then disappears into the house. "We have yet to write up those reports from the last meeting."

Winona glares at Leonard, stopping just in front of him. "You'll regret coming here."

"Bless your heart," Leonard drawls in return, "I'll pray for you."

Winona smarts as though she's been physically struck. Jamie, at his side, snorts in amusement. Without further words, Winona hurries into the house. 

"I do not understand, Leonard. She reacted as though you insulted her." Spock cocks his head. 

"I did." Leonard's smirk is roguish and charming, tinted darkly with a hint of malice. 

"If a human says 'bless your heart', they're mocking you for being stupid." Jamie translates. "And if they tell you they'll pray for you when there's no situation that warrants it, that means they're implying that only God can save you from yourself."

"What situations would warrant the statement without sarcasm?"

She shrugs. "Anything that generally leaves you feeling helpless. Doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing."

"Don't have a phrase like that on Vulcan?" Leonard asks. 

"Yeah they do." She snorts again. " _Live long and prosper._ "

"That is not a sarcastic statement." He frowns. "It is a farewell."

"You can't genuinely tell me every time you've said it, you meant it completely literally." She raises an eyebrow. He averts his gaze. 

"It does not speak well of me to admit it." He says softly.

Leonard claps him on the shoulder with a broad, steady hand. "Well, my friend, you're in the company of humans here. We love that kind of shit."

"Saying something pleasant but meaning it in an insulting fashion?" He frowns again. "Does that not make discourse unnecessarily difficult?"

"It can." Leonard admits. "But that's half the fun. It's frowned upon to be too direct. Saying 'Oh, you weren't aware your daughter got married?' is a lot more polite than 'I know she hates you and in no uncertain terms why'."

He considers Leonard's argument. "I suppose the insinuation is much more polite than the blunt statement."

"Plus, when they get mad, they look like the asshole, not you." Leonard smirks again. 

"C'mon, let's drop off this stuff, then I can show you the gardens." Jamie interjects. Spock finds it warms his heart to see her happy and carefree. She must feel safe with Leonard, in the same way she now feels safe with Spock, and he is grateful to the other man for having been there when he could not.

| | | 

Jamie has left to get them refreshment, leaving Spock and Leonard alone in the water garden. Leonard is watching the play of light on one of the large succulents when he speaks. 

"I've known Jamie for five years, and I've seen that girl through hell." He doesn't look at Spock, but he knows he's being addressed. "I can't tell you how many times I've set bones, popped her shoulders back into their sockets, regenerated black eyes and split lips. And only some of that was from her bar brawls."

Spock says nothing, mulling over the implied information. 

"I've watched her fall in lust with tons of people - human and alien alike. I've seen her abandon friends and acquaintances because they admitted to having feelings for her. I've watched her throw opportunity after opportunity away, either convinced she doesn't deserve it or too afraid of failure to even attempt it. Even if she didn't live in the shadow of George Kirk and the _Kelvin_ , even if all that shit on Tarsus IV hadn't of happened-"

"I'm sorry, did you say _Tarsus IV_ , doctor?"

Leonard finally meets his gaze. His voice is soft and sympathetic. "Yeah."

"She did not tell me she was on Tarsus IV."

"I'm the only person she's ever told of her own volition, and that's because I wouldn't stop pushing to know where she got that scar on her throat."

Yes, Spock has seen it. He's kissed and licked and sucked and bit it, but had not considered it further when she explained it away as an 'incident from childhood'. 

"My point was - I wanna know what you did to make her fall for you, so strongly and so abruptly."

"You wish to know if there was some duplicitous intention on my behalf."

"Vulcans are touch telepaths, and strong ones. Humans are psi-null and wouldn't know you messed with them."

"It happened when we were children. She assaulted three Vulcan children who were harassing me. She offered me her hand to pull me up from the ground, and both my inexperience at controlling my mental faculties and my highly emotional state resulted in a fledgling bond that survived into our adulthood. We have been aware of each other since on a subconscious level, usually through the medium of dreams, when my mental shielding is weak or non-existent. Our seemingly abrupt attraction to and affection for each other is actually the result of over a decade of intuitive communications."

Leonard nods slowly. 

"Is my explanation to your satisfaction, doctor?"

"Can you influence her thoughts across this bond?"

He hesitates. "It depends on your definition. I cannot dictate her feelings or actions, but we share emotions and thoughts. I may influence her should I be feeling affectionate into feeling affectionate herself, and she may influence me similarly should she be feeling angry, for example, however neither of us are under compulsion to act on these feelings and lessons in adequate shielding will dampen or eliminate these effects."

"Good. I've never seen her this happy - I'd hate to have to ruin it."

He feels this is one of those veiled phrases Leonard seems fond of, this one with an undeniable malice about it. He has no desire to know what plans the good doctor had for separating them should the explanation not have been satisfactory.

"Are you going to follow her to Starfleet?"

He blinks. "Pardon?"

"She was going to join Starfleet when she came home." Leonard rolls his head lazily on his shoulders. "Obviously, you've changed those plans, so she's not coming back to Earth. I don't see why she shouldn't join Starfleet still, though."

He considers his answer carefully. If he is not clear, Leonard may misconstrue what he is trying to say. "I would depend on what she chooses to do. There are many options here on Vulcan, should she want them. However, if her desire is to join Starfleet, I would follow her there."

"Would you now?"

"It is only logical that I support my wife in her career choices, especially when I am tied to none of my own." To him, this all goes without saying. "I am also aware of the allowances Starfleet grants specifically to Vulcans - we would be housed together in the Academy and any rotation we may experience aboard starships would exclusively be undertaken together."

"I know they try to keep married couples together, but it's not always a guarantee."

"It is for Vulcan mates." He insists, because he knows. When Amanda served on a starship early in their marriage, Sarek was aboard with her, despite being a Vulcan diplomat and not a Starfleet officer in any capacity. "To call her 'wife' perhaps undersells what she will be to me - she will become my other half, tied together body and soul, and I will not be able to be without her."

Leonard assesses him carefully, and he gets the unfathomable feeling that should he fail to meet the doctor's standard, Jaime will slip beyond his reach. 

"I am aware that such attachments do not occur amongst humans, but it is a reality amongst Vulcans." He feels obliged to explain. "We bind our minds to those of our spouses, and the bond cannot be severed without crippling pain."

"Oh, I know." Leonard muses, still blank enough to impress the most stoic Vulcan elder. "Can't fault a man for wanting to make sure his best friend isn't falling into the same old trap."

"She has informed me of her previous relationship difficulties." He assures. "The bond between mates does not allow for willful ignorance - I will feel any distress I may cause her, as will she feel any distress she causes me."

"That's good to know. That woman means a lot to me, and I'll be honest, I was pretty unnerved when she told me about this shotgun wedding."

"I understand your misgivings. Human courtship takes much longer, and logically so. Feelings cannot be so easily communicated between psi-null beings."

"That it does, and she's stunted at the best of them." Leonard glances over at him. Some weighted malice sits in his gaze, unspoken. "So long as you do right by her, you and I will never have a problem."

"She is to be my mate and my wife - all I desire is her happiness."

"Good. Glad to hear it." Leonard goes quiet just in time for Jamie to return, accompanied by Sarek. "There you are! Wonderin' if we'd need a search party."

"The fault is mine." Sarek interjects. "I am making the wedding arrangements and desired her opinion."

Jamie hands Leonard come amber liquid in a stout glass and passes him a pink cocktail that smells of fruit. For herself, she has crushed ice sitting in juice, likely with an Terran spirit in it. 

"No worries. Let me and Spock get to know each other better."

"Let you give him the shovel talk, you mean." Jamie laughs. 

"I would never." Leonard gasps, mock-offended. 

"He did not threaten me." It's not a lie, because Leonard had never explicitly done so. "He only expressed concern for your welfare and continued independence."

She snorts. "Is that so?"

"It is." He frowns at her wry grin. "He thinks very highly of you, and wished to confirm that I hold you in similar regard, which I do. You have chosen your best friend well."

Her expression is much more serious, and even Leonard looks somewhat taken aback. "Oh."

Leonard recovers faster than she does, taking a drink. "I deny any and all accusations of being a good person. I'll see you in court."

Jamie breaks out into laughter as Leonard smirks at her over the lip of the glass. Their friendship is very deep and intimate, and Spock is glad of it. 

"Unfortunately, I have business that requires my son at present." Sarek speaks up. "If you'll excuse us."

"We'll be here." She smiles, and Spock is reassured all over again that he has chosen well.

**Author's Note:**

> *For anyone not familiar, this is an actual fact! Presently, the Himba tribe still exists in the Kaokoland in Africa, and the mixture they use is called otjize paste, made with butterfat and ochre pigment. Not only does this protect their skin from the sun, it also protects them from bug bites and as the paste dries and flakes off, it takes dirt and sweat with it, cleaning the skin in the water-scarce environment.


End file.
